Imagine a land of promise, a land of golden greens, empurpled reds and argent blues: a land not unlike most lands where ordinary people dwell. It’s a land of sea and sand, good and evil, high and low. A land where the swish of enormous wings can be heard by you but not by others--a land where the flattening caused by a searing wind can be seen but not felt by most but you. You are never quite sure what it is you are hearing, seeing, perhaps imagining, until the great, wild-eyed behemoth chooses a house, seemingly at random, and lands, great wings swishing, hot breath heaving, onto your roof.

Quite suddenly, you have got a dragon.

By this time, the beating of the wings has been following you around for quite some time. The periodic flattening of things around you—trees, flowers, blades of grass--by a windswept heat has you puzzled though you have felt no undue alarm. But now that the smoking cinders are falling through the blackened ceiling and settling into the carpet, the drapes, your clothes—your hair—you suspect the truth. Thinking that surely these things happened to other people, people from a different town, race, religion, economic background, size, shape, age, never you, you run outside, throw a fearful glance at the roof and clearly see what you had never before had the wit to truly fear.

Although you make is sound extremely awesome, I don't think I envy you having a dragon. We hear wings beating and feel the pressure of the wind more often than I'd like. We've had a landing or two as well. As a matter of fact, there's one sitting on our roof right now. Fortunately he's not breathing fire. Just threatening, keeping us from feeling at peace.

But mostly I'm looking forward to your next installment. I hope yours is a nice dragon and will stop breathing fire on you.